


Coitus More Ferarum

by fracturedvaels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fracturedvaels/pseuds/fracturedvaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen only wanted information. Samson doesn’t care about what Cullen wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coitus More Ferarum

Cullen only wanted information. Samson doesn’t give a fuck about what Cullen wants.

Samson couldn’t care less about giving him troop movements, or red lyrium mine locations, or camp locations, or anything. He couldn’t care less about where his former leader was now or how pressing the end of the fucking world was. He literally couldn’t fucking care about any of it.

Not that that means he _didn’t_ give any information. Ont he contrary, when Cullen was willing to play, Samson was more than willing to give him what he wanted – and, of course, what he _needed_. Cullen himself didn’t _need_ the troop movements or the mine locations. Neither his job nor his life were dependent upon it. His sanity was another question.

As was his _sanctity_.

Cullen was a stupid, sweet, pious sort. Outwardly, at least; he was the shining golden choir boy, dutiful and kind and holy. He was the kind of pure that made you touch yourself at night thinking about how tight he was, how clean he was, wishing you could be the one to dirty him up.

Outwardly. _Outwardly_. Oh, there was no doubt in Samson’s mind that he _was_ a holy, pious sort, that the sweetness wasn’t entirely an act. But Cullen was anything but stupid and he was anything but untouched or pure. There was no way a man like Cullen was as innocent as he feigned. Not that it mattered to Samson, at any rate, because it really, truly fucking didn’t.

It never had. Not back in Kirkwall when they rutted against each other like schoolboys in the broom cupboard. Not the fourth week after his capture, when he pinned Cullen onto his desk and finger-fucked him into the fool was cumming in Samson’s mouth. And that had been _boring_ , and awkward, and Samson had picked away at Cullen’s coy veneer as he’d done it. Oh, Cullen was _far_ more shy after the fact with his rose-pink cheeks, when Samson had kissed him stupid.

But again: boring. _Boring_. To Samson, anyway; where was the fun in someone _else_ getting off? Especially if _you_ had to do all the work. But Cullen hadn’t screamed or hit him or pushed him away. And even if for a few moments Samson thought it was out of fear – that he’d allowed Samson to molest him out of some ridiculous, Chantry-ruined sense of duty or honor – when Cullen had agreed afterward to take him to the War Room, to let Samson mark key spots on their war table, when Cullen had trusted him and had let their knuckles brush together while hovering over the map, he’d realized better. When Samson laid a hand on the back of Cullen’s neck and gently guided his head to follow the trail of his own finger, marking a path for an Inquisition ambush, and Cullen had gasped a little and hadn’t flinched but had leaned into the touch…oh. Oh, blood of the Elder One, Samson realized better.

And Samson could play his game quite easily, whether Cullen realized it or not. He made that clear during their _second_ time, when Cullen was a little less shy and far more standoffish. His speech was all formal, no sad smiles this time, no gentle words of encouragement. And that _armor_ , that fucking armor was back on. It was a dare, it was a fucking _dare_. ‘Just try it,’ and the leathers creaked as Cullen paced the room, asking questions. 'My body is on lock down. Just _try_ it.’

And maybe that would’ve been gratifying, too, to peel Cullen out of that armor, to prove that he couldn’t lock himself away from Samson. Wolves get hungry, you see, and even lambs behind fences were vulnerable.

 _Especially_ lambs behind fences.

As Cullen talked, paced his way around the room, repeated and reworded questions, Samson watched. Waited. Let his appetite grow, till he couldn’t take it anymore. Till he had to launch himself out of his chair and at Cullen, forcing the blond against the wall. He twisted his scarred fingers into Cullen’s thick, pretty gold curls, forced him down before he even realized what he was doing; he’d been thinking of all the ways he could take Cullen while watching him, but Cullen had gotten more than his fair share of pleasure the last time. _This_ time it would be about Samson, and maybe, if the fucking tit could play nice, he’d give away more than he had before. Secret spots, places Corypheus couldn’t have risked moving or wiping out lest he weaken himself.

So, he forced Cullen down. The commander had fought it, of course, trying to push Samson’s wrist away. But he hadn’t fought _hard_. And he’d ended up sitting awkwardly, one knee bent to a crouch and the other leg laid so that his foot was caught under his own ass. Samson hesitated, briefly – a few seconds, more than enough time for Cullen to decide if they should continue. When Cullen had reached for Samson’s pants instead, the former Red Templar had grinned down at him and helped free his cock from his pants.

It had taken some…gentle coaxing. Cullen had clearly never sucked cock before. But Samson didn’t actually _need_ him to do that; he just needed him to hold _still_. Once he was so far in that Cullen’s nose was pressed against Samson’s pelvis, that his eyes were already starting to water, he growled out his instructions: for Cullen to relax his jaw, for him to keep his teeth of Samson’s dick.

And he waited only long enough for Cullen to unlock that stupid, beautiful jaw before he began thrusting. It was slow at first, not terribly deep thrusts, and Cullen even felt bold enough to attempt to reach up and push Samson’s hand away from his hair. That just made him grip his hair _tighter_ , and he grabbed Cullen’s wrist, pinning it to the wall. Whatever Cullen did, trying to free his trapped hand, just made Samson squeeze tighter and thrust harder, fiercer, _faster_.

But he wasn’t cruel. And he wasn’t doing this to _hurt_ Cullen; when he realized the man needed air he stopped, pausing, pulling his hard cock out.

The sight was _so_ delicious.

Cullen’s cheeks were bright pink, pinker than they had been when he’d pinned him to the desk. His chest heaved, eyes shimmering and face wet with tears; at the corner of his mouth, a small trail of drool slipped down his chin and dripped onto the feathers of is pauldrons. He was looking at Samson from his half-lidded eyes with a quivering lip and a twitching, antsy smile.

Samson let go of Cullen’s wrist, but not his hair, and leaned down to kiss him hard. Cullen immediately put his hands on the back of Samson’s head and neck and sat up as much as he could to reciprocate. When they pulled away from each other, Samson moved the hand that had been holding Cullen’s wrist down to his jaw. Large, brown eyes stared at him as he went to gently wipe away the thin line of saliva from Cullen’s face.

Such lovely eyes, he thought, so beautiful and deep. And so fucking hard to read, because he only caught the glimpse of mischief before Cullen turned his head as much as he could and nipped hard at Samson’s fingers. The dark haired man sneered – amused, but unimpressed – and let go of Cullen’s jaw to slap him. Cullen let out a shocked cry at that, tried to pull his head away again only to have Samson jerk him back into place and thrust back into his mouth.

He was far rougher the second time around. When the commander reached his hand back up again, undoubtedly to try and free his hair from Samson’s vice grip, he caught it again; this time, though, he laced their fingers together, holding Cullen’s hand tightly.

Samson could feel more than hear Cullen’s soft, anxious whimpers and moans. And it felt _so good_ , rolling through him like shocks to the system. Cullen’s mouth was far warmer, far softer and far more inviting than any cunt he’d ever fucked. It drove him mad with lust and he found himself cumming, mostly down Cullen’s throat – though he had presence of mind to pull out before it was all, in his mind, wasted. Mostly it splashed over the lower part of Cullen’s face, on his chin and on his nose and mouth.

The commander did _not_ look amused. But Samson leaned down and kissed him again anyway, before he could complain. And he looked so pretty with Samson’s seed on his face; the former general wished he’d gotten more out. As it were, he was just spent, weak kneed and far too blissful to be safe.

Cullen, he thought, had definitely earned the right to better information.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me how gross i am @ http://princetheirin.tumblr.com/


End file.
